Abandoned Campsites and the Bear Who Ate My Backpack

After my harrowing jaunt a few weeks ago, I felt determined to revisit that path. (If you missed my last blog in which I felt I was being hunted, you can find it here). And like last week in which I just sort of "felt" something was off, this time I "knew" we were going to have a bear encounter....which is why I brought along my trusty friend, Dan. Lol.

Dan and I hit the trail about 2:00 pm on Sunday. We were traveling the Silver Moccasin Trail from the Angeles Crest Highway mile marker 43.30 down 3.88 miles to the West Fork Campground. Actually, this was my 3rd attempt at making West Fork. During my 2nd foray ever, before I learned to read a map (and take one along), I turned around before I got to the cut off. Last week, I turned back after I had a very scary feeling I was being hunted.

  This week, the skies were blue, I had a companion for safety, and everything was pointed in the right direction. About a mile down, we passed a couple coming up the trail we were headed down. They warned us that the campsite was eerie. There were a number of abandoned tents there. "It's pretty weird", the lady told us, as we conversed. I asked them about the trail and how easy it was to follow. The gentleman told me it was easy, and I should just follow his big footsteps.

Hmmm, I thought. Sounds good. I had lost the trail somehow last weekend (I'm good at that), so I was hopeful this time would be easier, and it was. A mountain biker came up behind us about a half mile later. He passed us, then we caught up to him. He was busy sawing down one of the many branches blocking the trail from an easy biking path. One thing about this trail, there were more fallen trees to go over and especially under than on any path I've been on thus far.

I hate when I have to go under a tree. It always involves me walking on my knees, and save for my trekking poles to help me, it's always a bitch to get back up with my big pack on my back. Sherpa Dan seemed to have no issues with these. Yeah, whatever.

As we got to the valley of the mountain, bug season began. We should've been warned when we noticed the cyclist wearing a full on safari hat with a mosquito net. O.M.G. Swarms of flies and mosquitoes followed our every move. My veritable windshield wiper arm went up again, as did the lower lip trumpet I use--exhaling every breath vainly upward to blow the flies away from my tear ducts. F**kers! We sprayed ourselves with deet liquid mixed with a citronella spray a friend had given me a few weeks back, which unfortunately didn't work too well on its own. This alleviated our issues by about 25%. Crap.

The buzzing around our ears was probably the most annoying. It's like chinese water torture, only worse. Finally, in a fit of utter frustration, Dan came up with the Aunt Jemima head wrap. We both wrapped our bandanas like Aunt Jemima does with the tie on the top, our ears covered from the incessant buzzing. Although the swarms didn't stop, the buzzing was muffled significantly, and we reached our campsite sanity still in tact.

Dan started a fire, so the smoke would rid us of the flies, while I set up my bird trap again. A mosquito pierced my shoulder over and over and over before Dan finally mashed it. I had 27 bites there to show for it's blood-letting the next day.

After about half an hour, I set the trap out near a nearby dry creek bed, where I'd seen and heard lots of birds, and we headed back to set up our tent.

The campsite was odd. There were 3 small 1-2 man tents all by the same company that were abandoned--two blue and one green. The green one had been moved, blown, pushed into another nearby creek bed about 15 feet away, while the other 2 were positioned around a picnic table in which loads of trash remained. In another adjacent site, a larger 6 man tent stood empty. How weird. It's as if everyone in this party got spooked and left at the same time. The food and trash looked like it had been there for awhile. The big tent's door was open. The green tent in the creek was closed up. In one of the other small blue tents, a large apple juice bottle half filled with what looked like urine remained. A sleeping bag with a flannel liner had cobwebs in it.

There was a fire starter log in the same tent. In the other tent were just the tent directions and leftover tent poles.  On the picnic table was a broken bottle of beer and a bottle of Wild Turkey with a bit remaining. Weird. How long had this been like this? It really looked like it had been months.

The couple we passed had told us one of the tents appeared to still be occupied, but we could tell right away we were going to be the only ones there this night.

We set up our tent on the opposite side of the fairly small campground, about 25 yards away.

Here's what the set up looked like if you drew a square. On the east side was a creek cutting diagonally to the north, On the north side was a dried creek bed where I set my trap. On the west side was another trail and to its right a largish hill covered in leaves. We were on the south side. The whole campsite was maybe 30 yards by 30 yards.

Dan and I set up our tent, ate a few Cliff Builder's Bars and stayed up talking until about 11 pm, when we decided to turn in for the evening. I'd been up since 5 am, had run 10 miles in the morning, and I was beat. I knew he'd struggle with sleep, since he stays up until 2 am most evenings. Right before we went in the tent, we went over to check my bird trap (empty) and put my back pack with all our food in it about 12' up in a tree. I knew 15' was recommended, but 12' was what we found. It was late. I was tired.  Additionally, everything in my bag was in a a bear-smell-proof bag, so I felt we were golden.

Wrong!

The biggest problem with West Fork Campground and also with Valley Forge is the sheer number of acorn trees on the premises. To a novice, every acorn dropping sounds like a wild animal. As I had already camped at Valley Forge, I wasn't even remotely disturbed by these sounds, Dan on the other hand was sure he was hearing animals everywhere.

I can laugh now, but he reminded me of my first night alone up in Trail Canyon. I "knew" I was safe, but my mind made everything larger than it was.

After about 1/2 an hour, Dan woke me up. "Did you hear that?", he said? I listened. Nothing. "It's acorns, Dan. Go back to bed." Another 1/2 an hour, "Shannon, I heard an animal pass by."  "Dan, honey, it's nothing. It's acorns. Go back to bed."  An hour later, "Shannon, no seriously, I heard a growl. Listen." I listened. "There it was again, did you hear it?" Nothing. "No, babe, nothing. I heard nothing." I sat up with him awhile trying to encourage him. Dan's strong, brave, he's not a dummy, and he has more backpacking experience than I have. However, it had been awhile (a) and (b) this was one noisy-ass campground.

I sank back into sleep. I could've slept through an earthquake, I was so beat. About 2 am, Dan woke me. "Hear that?" This time, I DID hear it. There was a distinct munching sound. It was clear an animal was in our campsite and he was munching on something heavy and plastic. "It's that apple juice bottle filled with pee", Dan said. "No bear's gonna be attracted to pee, said I. "I think he got a hold of my back pack and has my new $35 bladder in his teeth.

We both sat there, all the hairs on our necks being drawn to the moon by some invisible static electricity. Then we heard the unthinkable. The bear knocked down one of the abandoned tents. Then we heard him walk over and tear another one. Although we never deigned to look out of our tent, we both knew it was a bear. What else could it be?

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

We were nothing short of terrified. Having a bear in your campsite was one thing, but a bear that was strategically tearing through each tent in succession was another. We wondered if it would only be a matter of time until we were next. I pulled out my bear-spray and readied it. Dan got out his knife. We sat up, quiet, still.

The bear sat munching, crunching, smashing that plastic whatever-it-was and making lots of noise for over an hour. Finally, he went away.

Oh my god. That was even scarier than last week!! We laid back down, shaking, amazed and marveled at how crazy this had been. We regaled stories of "what ifs." What if there had been no back pack, would he have come for us? His demolition of two of the tents made us wonder.

What if we'd been lazy and put the bag in our tent? O. M. G., we would be telling a far more terrifying tale now, we knew that for sure. After another half an hour of calming ourselves down, we finally sank into sleep.

I learned a TON this weekend. #1: Bear proof bags are B. S.  I had a hunch, but until this occurrence, I couldn't be sure. They're supposed to be "smell proof". Nope, don't believe it.  #2: NEVER be too lazy to hang up your pack. #3: Twelve feet is not high enough. #4: If you're in a campsite with lots of trash, clean it up to prevent a bear from thinking there's dinner. #5: NEVER sleep with your food in your tent. Just don't do it.

Out of curiosity, I looked up statistics on bears in our area.  Did you know that ALL black bears in So Cal are the descendants of 27 bears shipped here from Yosemite in 1933? Did you know that only Grizzly Bears are native to So Cal, but that they were hunted to extinction--the last one was killed February 26, 1908. (Source: http://www.kcet.org/updaily/socal_focus/history/la-as-subject/a-brief-history-of-bears-in-the-los-angeles-area.html)

Did you know also that "Fish and Game reports 12 known wild bear attacks in California since 1980 not including one last year in the Tahoe Sierra. The last Californian killed by a wild bear died in the 19th century, and the bear at fault was a grizzly." Most black bears avoid humans. I also read that one should bring a bear proof tin whenever camping, as most bears had long ago figured out how to get bags out of trees. Lol!

The next morning, I awoke first. I grabbed Dan, so we could head over to survey the damage. The one tent was completely flattened. Can you imagine if someone was in there? The other tent had several big slash marks, where the bear just decided he wanted to see what was inside. The large tent was

untouched. The trash that was on the picnic table was now scattered everywhere, the Wild Turkey bottle was broken and it's contents spilled, and the apple juice bottle filled with pee was totally smashed.

I walked to my backpack. Wow. Only part of the waist strap clung to the tree. The rest of its contents, and all the baggies were ripped open. Six of 8 Builder's Bars we had in there were gone. (I guess he was full.) All the trail mix had been eaten, teeth marks punctured my tiny bottle of Ibuprofen I carry. (Glad he didn't get that; it might have killed him.) My brand new $35 bladder I bought to save me from having to stop every 15-30 mins to drink Gatorade was emptied and shredded. (Guess bears like Gatorade as much as I do.) Both our toothbrushes had dirt ground into them and our toothpaste tube was punctured. The entire bottom of my backpack had been torn off. 


Not to mention that the bear had tripped my dang bird trap and had eaten all the seeds and berries I'd left there. Go figure.  And to top it off, he'd laid a huge-o-mongo shit there too. I mean, this baby was easily 4" in diameter.  We figured with the size of that poop, the claw marks, and the fact he had to reach at least 12' to get to my back pack, this was one big bear.

We laughed again at our good fortune and how crazy the whole experience had been, thankful it had turned out the way it did.

Fortunately this bear didn't care for coffee. We lit a fire and had a few cups along with the two remaining uneaten Builder's Bars for breakfast.

Then, not wanting to leave the campsite in the terrible disarray we found it, we set about cleaning up all the trash left behind by the other party as well as our own, burned it all, broke down one of the tents for me to take home (since mine leaks and sucks) and prepared to break camp.

There was one small problem that now presented itself. Now we only had one pack, yet we had to hike out with everything we came in with plus one additional one-person tent. I'd also hiked in with all the sticks necessary to make my bird trap, since cutting them to size is incredibly time-intensive, and I wasn't willing to leave them behind.

I packed the sticks in one of the leftover tent bags, tied that to the other "new" tent I was taking, tied my sleeping pad to that, stuffed my sleeping bag in that sleeping pad, tied the tent we brought to that and tied a large loop around that big enough to be worn around the forehead with the items dangling behind. It only weighed about 20#. It worked fantastically.

We felt great, so Dan started out with the now 50# framed backpack he brought, and I wore the head-wrap pack. Off we headed, Aunt Jemima scarves pre-tied, as the sun was up and the bugs were already biting.

We waded through tall grasses, and forest that resembled jungle, as we wound our way out. Finally, after about 35 mins, we started heading back up the mountain. Dan, unused to hiking hills with a weighted pack, quickly fatigued. Realizing if we didn't pick up the pace, I wouldn't be back to work on time Monday afternoon, we traded. 

We made great time taking about 2 hours and 15 mins to reach the car. Our legs and lungs burned from a 1550 foot elevation gain. It was slow and tiring work. Dan was fried, but I was starving. After a quart of orange juice, a 32 oz bottle of mango protein drink and a half a Hamburger Habit Santa Barbara Style Bacon, Avocado, Cheeseburger, I felt satiated, and we called it a day.

Now that was an adventure I'm in no hurry to repeat!